PART 6

Ezra slowly surfaced from the depths of oblivion. His head throbbed and with great effort, he forced his eyes to open. He raised his hands to see a rope tightly knotted around his wrists. He blinked and tried to study the knots but a pounding wave of pain stabbed through his mind. Ezra attempted to comprehend the scene surrounding him and flexed his fingers. He hissed as a sharp pain spiked through his shoulder. His right leg also throbbed in unison as if not to be left out of his agony.

"Ah, welcome back. I wasn't sure you'd ever wake up," James Rosen said as he dropped to one knee in front of the injured conman.

Ezra swallowed and tried to focus, but could only manage a blurred, shimmering image. He trembled as a breeze caressed his sweat-covered torso. His shredded linen shirt now in service as a bandage across his chest. Ezra frowned. Damn. Another shirt ruined.

"Don't worry," Rosen said. "The bullet went clean through and we stopped the bleedin'. Frank here..." Rosen looked over his shoulder at the sharpshooter. "...is a right fine shot."

Ezra stared at the older man, incredulous. 'Did he expect a thank you or congratulations?' Ezra struggled to sit up and bring some moisture into his dry mouth. "And who…might you be, sir?"

"The name's James Rosen." He reached out and helped the gambler lean up against a dead tree stump.

Ezra glanced around the small encampment. The blurred shapes of three other men huddled around a campfire coming into focus. Gawd, he wished his vision would clear. The distortion was making him nauseous.

"May I inquire...as to the reason...I have been so ill-treated?" Ezra closed his eyes and rested his head back.

"You sound like a southerner." Rosen brought a canteen of water to Ezra's lips and the gambler drank greedily until it was pulled away. James found it hard to believe that this citified dandy was a lawman and got the jump on his son, but then from what Nick had told him, all seven lawmen were a little out of the ordinary.

"You one a them lawmen?"

Ezra stared at the older outlaw wiping his mouth on his sleeve and then lowering his bound hands. There was no reason to lie; it was clear these men already knew who he was. "Yes, I have been appointed a temporary peacekeeper."

"Farley here says you ran into my son. Is he still alive?"

Ezra had to think a moment. "Was your son one of the miscreants who unwisely attempted to rob the bank?"

"Yeah, sort of overeager." Rosen smiled. "He was supposed to wait for me, but you know kids; they never listen to their elders," James paused. "So, is he alive?"

"Will you believe me if I say yes?"

James Rosen sat back on his heels and stared at the smooth-talking lawman. He dressed like a gambler, and talked like a gambler and Rosen had never met a gambler he trusted, but what choice did he have? He had to believe that Bryce was still alive.

"We're gonna ransom you, boy. Trade you for my son." Rosen explained. "So, you better hope my boy is still breathin'."

Rosen was taken aback by the gambler's reaction as Ezra choked a harsh chortle burst from his mouth. The laugh turned immediately into a strangled cough that sent tendrils of pain throughout his body. He clenched his teeth and reminded himself to abstain from a sense of humor when he was injured.

"Hey, take it easy! I need you alive."

Ezra breathed through the pain and slowly gained control. "Sir, you are delusional. The others will not trade your lowlife son, who is probably wanted for numerous immoralities, for me."

Rosen's eye's darkened as he stood over conman. He hadn't thought of that. He didn't know what this man meant to the town or the other lawmen if anything. "Now, there ain't no reason for name-calling. Bryce is a good boy."

Ezra chuckled as much as his pain would allow. "Of course, look at the standards to which he aspires, murder and mayhem what every son strives for in life. You must be very proud," Ezra brazenly replied as he glared at the blurred image of the aged outlaw.

Rosen had enough of his haughty prisoner's insults and brought his booted foot into Ezra's side with great satisfaction. Ezra collapsed upon himself, struggling for air as tears ran down his cheek. Spasms of pain raced through his body. He gasped when oxygen finally found its way into his lungs. 'Okay, no being a smart-ass when you're a prisoner to a mad man,' Ezra thought.

"You better be worth it to someone, or I'll send you back in pieces," Rosen growled stomping back to what was left of his men near the campfire. Pete, give me that fancy red jacket. I'm gonna need it."

Ezra remained on his side, his head resting in the sand. He prayed for the pain to subside. Worth it? The words echoed in his head. Was he worth it to Chris Larabee or the others? He honestly didn't know and that hurt worse than the pain now holding his body hostage.

TBC